


Living in Color

by closedcaptioning



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 13:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18011381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closedcaptioning/pseuds/closedcaptioning
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky lives in a world without color, before Otabek paints his way into his life.





	Living in Color

Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t believe in soulmates.

How could he, when his mom and dad, who were supposedly soulmates, broke apart after having Yuri? How could he, when he has to watch the gazes Yakov and Lilia shoot each other when they think no one is looking?

Victor tells him that when he met Katsudon, his world lit up. Yuri wonders what they see when they look at each other. They toss around words like _lavender, red,_ and _blue_ \- Yuri doesn’t know what those mean. He doesn’t think he ever will.

 

/ /

 

Yuri’s in the park when he first sees him.

He’s drawing, painting splotches of drippy paint onto a canvas. The autumn wind is ruffling his dark hair, and leaves are falling around him like sprinkles on a cupcake. Yuri’s breath catches in his throat.

He doesn’t know what to do, so he walks by him, focusing on the dark gray gravel beneath his feet.

 

/ /

 

Yuri goes back to the park and sits on the swings, rocking his feet back and forth. He likes to do this when his parents get to be too much, and Yakov’s mouth turns into a flat, angry line, and Lilia tells him to _leave, Yuri, we’ll handle this._

He feels a tap on his shoulder. Jolts and whirls around. “What?” he snaps. Behind him is the painter from the park. Now that Yuri’s looking at him up close, he can see how his hair is shaved on the sides, how his eyes are dark and warm and how his jawline disappears into his neck.

The guy swallows. Yuri tries not to follow the motion of his throat as it bobs up and down. “I’m Otabek Altin.” he says, voice gravelly. Yuri blinks.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” he responds carefully, and the world bursts into color.

 

/ / 

 

“I don’t believe in soulmates,” is the first thing Yuri tells Otabek, conversationally. They’re sitting over cups of coffee in a shop. Yuri’s blowing gently on the steam rising from his cup, and Otabek has his hands cupped around his.

Otabek pauses. He opens his mouth, and Yuri thinks he’s going to ask _why not?_ or _why are you here with me, then?_ but instead he only says, “That’s okay.”

Yuri’s mouth flaps open incredulously. “Really? That’s all you’re going to say? You’re not going to tell me that it’s wrong or try to convince me otherwise or whatever?”

“Yuri.” Otabek cuts him off. His name sounds like music rolling off of his tongue. Yuri likes the way Otabek lilts the syllables, how the first syllable of his name becomes sharp in Otabek’s mouth. Victor elongates the _Yu-_ when he talks, so he sounds perpetually condescending. Maybe the other Yuuri likes it. Yuri doesn’t know.

“Yuri, look at me.” Yuri looks up from watching the white swirls in his coffee, meets Otabek’s chocolate colored eyes. 

“You might not believe in soulmates,” Otabek says firmly. “But I will do my best to make sure that you believe in _me._ ”

 

/ / 

 

Otabek keeps his promise. 

He calls Yuri the next day, asking to meet up at the park, again. Yuri doesn’t have anything better to do, so he agrees.

Bundled up in a scarf and coat, Yuri makes his way to the spot where Otabek had told them to meet. Otabek’s already there, sitting with his canvas under the autumn leaves. Yuri gets a strange sense of deja vu. This time, though, Yuri can see the red and the orange and the brown of the leaves, the black of Otabek’s hair, the multitude of colors on Otabek’s canvas. Yuri can’t put a name to the colors, but they’re beautiful, like what Yuri imagines fireworks would be like if he could see past their flashing light.

“How did you even paint before this?” Yuri greets Otabek, plopping down on the dirt beside him. “I mean, you couldn’t even see colors.”

Otabek dips his brush into the paint. When he speaks next, it’s in soft, measured tones. “I painted in shades of grey before I met you. But in my early years of painting, I used colors to paint, anyway, even though I couldn’t really tell what they were. I told myself that when I met my soulmate, I’d go back and look at them again. See how I did.”

“And? How were they?” Yuri can’t help asking.

The corner of Otabek’s mouth turns up slightly. “They were trash.”

A laugh bubbles out of Yuri’s lips, and he hears Otabek chuckle beside him as well. “Teach me how to paint,” he demands.

Otabek turns, giving him a smile. Yuri feels a warmth spreading down from his chest to the tips of his toes. “Of course.”

 

/ /

 

They set up a meeting at Otabek’s place. Otabek shows Yuri into his studio. Paint bottles line the shelves and half finished works lean up against the wall. Yuri sees a painting of the park in black and white, and he points at it. “Is that what you were painting before?”

“Before?” Otabek gives him a quizzical look.

Yuri’s face heats. “I mean, before we met. Before, you know, you could see color.”

Otabek nods. “I’m trying to do a color version of that same painting, now. It’s not complete yet, but I want to do a sort of before-and-after thing. Before I met you. After I met you.” Otabek glances at Yuri out of the corner of his eye.

Yuri huffs. “Shut up. You brought me here to teach me, didn’t you?”

Otabek laughs. Yuri wants to make him laugh more. “That I did. Here, come sit.”

Yuri goes over to a stool in the corner of the room, sitting down on it. Otabek brings over a sheet of paper, a brush, and a set of paints. “Hold the brush like this.” Otabek maneuvers Yuri’s fingers around the brush, fingers calloused and rough against Yuri’s soft ones. Yuri feels a spark wherever they touch, but he pushes it back down.

“Like this?” 

“Yeah, like that. You’re a natural at this.” Otabek pushes the paper over. “Now, just try drawing something. A straight line, a circle. It can be anything.”

Yuri’s tongue pokes out of his mouth in concentration. He dips the tip of the brush in the orange paint, and brings it to the paper. A few strokes later, and, “Done.”

Otabek looks up. He looks at the paper in silence for a few moments. Yuri pushes his shoulder angrily, and opens his mouth to speak - then he realizes that Otabek is _laughing,_ shoulders shaking in a full-body chuckle. 

“What are you laughing at, you idiot?” Yuri asks.

Otabek shakes his head, still laughing. “What is that supposed to be?” he manages to choke out.

Yuri shoves Otabek’s shoulder again. “It’s a _tiger,_ are you blind?” 

That just makes Otabek laugh harder, and Yuri would never admit it, but he might be laughing too.

 

/ / 

 

They continue meeting up for a few weeks, so much that it becomes somewhat of a habit. Otabek usually calls Yuri, but Yuri finds that sometimes he’s the one to call first. This is one of those times. Yuri asks if Saturday morning is okay for a ‘lesson’ in painting, but Otabek says that he won’t be there until around 12. He offers to leave the door open, though, so Yuri can wait for him in his apartment. Get some practicing done. “You might need it,” Otabek teases, and Yuri rolls his eyes as hard as he can, even though he knows Otabek can’t see it through the phone.

Yuri arrives at Otabek’s place at 11, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. It smells of paint. Yuri makes his way to Otabek’s studio. It’s just as cluttered as last time. Yuri has to pick his way to his stool.

On his way there, though, Yuri notices the painting of the park he had pointed out originally has been replaced - it’s no longer black and white, but it’s now full and bursting with color. Yuri feels like he can reach out and pluck a leaf out of the painting, feel the wind from the blue sky on his face. 

And there’s something else that’s new on the painting, too; Otabek’s painted Yuri himself there. Yuri’s lying in the grass, hands behind his head, hair splayed around him like a halo. Yuri feels himself swallow. He remembers this moment - it was one of the times where they had just hung out without the pretense of a lesson. Yuri was pointing out how there were different _shades_ of blue - _look, the sky, Otabek, it’s lighter than it was before, and there, that paint that you have, it’s like the ocean_ \- and Otabek had just smiled and said something about his eyes being the bluest of them all. Yuri’s face heats just remembering it.

Almost of its own accord, Yuri reaches out and brushes his finger against the him in the painting - thankfully, the paint is dry. _Before I met you. After I met you._

 

/ / 

 

Otabek comes in at a quarter to twelve, shrugging off his coat and calling, “I’m home.” The sheer _domesticity_ of the action makes Yuri want to cringe, but at the same time, he feels a warmth spread through his chest. 

“I painted something for you,” Yuri responds, trying to ignore the thudding of his heart. 

Otabek steps into the room, mouth curled up at the side. “I hope it’s not a tiger again,” he jokes, eyes twinkling.

Yuri huffs, thrusting the paper out to Otabek. “Just take it, moron.”

Otabek takes it gingerly. He stares at it for a couple moments, and Yuri looks away. 

“Yuri,” Otabek says lowly, reverently, and Yuri feels fingers under his chin, tilting his face up to look at Otabek. “Is this…?” He holds up the paper.

Yuri’s painted a heart. His skills are still amateurish at best, but he can at least mimic the shape of one, try to color it in pink and red hues like he sees on Valentine Day’s cards. 

Otabek flicks his gaze down to Yuri’s mouth, then looks back up, asking for permission. Yuri gives a stiff, sharp nod, and then they’re kissing, a gentle press of mouth to mouth. Yuri’s hands come up around Otabek’s neck and tangle themselves in the short strands there, and Otabek settles his hands at Yuri’s waist. It’s gentle and sweet and lingering, but when they pull back, they’re both out of breath, faces flushed.

Yuri lets his forehead fall against Otabek’s chest. “I don’t believe in soulmates,” he mutters into the fabric of his shirt. He feels Otabek’s breath hitch, feels him stiffen, but then he only squeezes Otabek tighter, looking up.

“But I believe in you.”

Otabek’s answering smile is like the sun breaking across the waves.


End file.
